Weight of the World
by gryffindors x
Summary: Aisling was a young Roman girl staying at Marius's estate until she defied her master, resulting in a sentence to death in a dark room. When she ran away she was captured by the Saxons. By chance the Knights found her. Possibly LancelotOC.


**Weight of the World**

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim rights over _King Arthur_ or any of the directors, producers, actors, actresses, or anyone else affiliated with it. I am not making profit from this story, sadly, and no copyright infringement of any kind is intended. Now you can't sue me, so ha!

**Author's Note: **I really don't know what inspired me to write this story. I watched the movie, really enjoyed it, watched it a few more times, and developed a huge crush on Lancelot. And you all know I'm a sucker for original characters, so once again, I bring you an original character.

I did some research on the time era that the story takes place, and I picked out the name Aisling because it reminds me of Ainsley, a name that I love. I decided that she should be Roman, because I felt that it would provide me with more options for storylines, and I also wanted her to be involved with the Saxons because…well, I don't know why, but it seemed like a good idea.

So I present you with Aisling, an eighteen year old daughter of a member of the Roman senate (even though her name isn't very Roman), who starts out the story in captivity by the Saxons. I think this shall be taking place like…a month before the events of the movie, but I'll also include the stuff from the movie as it moves along. Voila and enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Still in the Dark**

Northern Britain had the coldest weather that she had ever experienced. It was snowing now - snowing hard. The flakes of white were large and cold, and as she sat near the tiny, heatless fire, they fell on her ears and nose, melting into drops of ice cold water. Her light brown hair that had at one time been neatly braided and wrapped close to her scalp now barely hung over her left shoulder, only being kept from falling in her face by one simple pin.

A gust of wind blew across the fire pit. She shivered. The thin material that her pale blue and gold embroidered dress was made of was not enough to keep her warm, and her captives, the ruthless Saxon warriors, were not about to take pity on her and give her something else to wear over her dress.

It was not very long into the night, but the sun had set hours ago, and the snow had been falling nearly all day. As she sat in the company of two bulky men that were assumed to be the soldiers keeping an eye on her, two men argued behind the large tree a few feet away from the fire.

"She is of no use to us anymore. No one is looking for her, nor is she of any importance, _father_."

A much older voice answered the first, "That is what it seems, yes."

"So we must kill her! We need to kill her and go back for the rest of the family. Perhaps _they_ will be the ones who can make the Romans agree to leave."

"No. Killing her would do no good. Come." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the older, taller man drag his son off and out of earshot. She shivered again. The fattest of the two men at the fire looked at her.

"D'you want some food, Roman? Got some nice meat here. D'you want some?" He chewed with his mouth full of food, and he slopped some drink down his shirt as he guzzled it.

She knew this game. She knew it well. If she said yes or showed any indication of hunger or desire in her facial expressions or even in the glint of her eyes, they would take their offer back, viciously saying that she did not deserve it. It was Saxon food. Not made for the Romans. So she sat completely still and stared at the small bit of sword that gleamed out of this soldier's belt. The fat man and his companion burst into low chuckling, which slowly rumbled into laughter. They abruptly stopped, however, many moments later. She looked up.

Cynric was coming at her with full strides, his usual look of anger upon his face. As a common instinct, she stood up just as he grabbed her violently by the arm and led her behind the trees, a good few steps away from the small fire. His father Cerdic stood waiting for them.

"Aisling, my little Roman. We have decided that you are not serving the purpose we had first thought you would. You are serving no purpose here, to be truthful, and we wish to no longer have you in our presence."

Her throat felt tight at this last statement, and Aisling found it hard to swallow. They were, after all, going to kill her. Fear began to creep through her legs and up to her stomach, spreading all the way through her body. Cynric held her arms behind her back, and she felt his body pressed hard against hers. It was his usual aggressive way, but Aisling found warmth for her hands just a ways up the arms of his heavy fur coat. She was sure he noticed this, but he did not make any movement to indicate it, nor did he mention it. Aisling knew why. But before she could reminisce on those reasons, Cerdic was speaking once more.

"Now, now, little Roman, we Saxons are _merciful _people," Cynric snickered behind her as a smirk flashed across his father's face, "so we have decided not to kill you ourselves." Aisling found it a bit easier to breathe. "But the island…it will surely kill you. You will venture out on your own. Whether you make it back to your village before we arrive there, that is entirely up to you."

Cerdic stepped away and wandered off in another direction. Cynric shoved Aisling in that direction, and the two followed closely behind. "This horse will be given to you. It is one of the few we have, but as we are also _generous_, we hope that you see it as a parting gift." He smirked and began back off toward the fire, probably to eat his evening meal. He turned one last time, "It was…nice to meet you, Aisling of Rome." And he was gone.

It took some time for Aisling to comprehend what was happening. She was to ride on this horse, far away, and maybe in time make it back to civilization. Of course, she would be provided with nothing but this horse, and she had no idea where she was. Aisling had no sense of navigation - she was hardly skilled in riding a horse or handling a sword. The fear she had felt earlier swept over her once more.

She turned around and looked up into Cynric's eyes. There was nothing present there but anger and coldness, but it was worth trying to bring some emotion back to them. Her frightened blue eyes bore into his as she pleaded with him, "Please…please, don't do this." Aisling did not know why, for she had been waiting to escape from the Saxons for so long, but now she wanted to stay with them. She had adapted to avoiding physical confrontations with most of the men, and she got food every couple of days. At least with the Saxons she was in the company of other people. Whether they hated her or not made no difference to her. But now? Now she would be left with nothing but the company of a horse. The thought of it drove her insane already.

Aisling raised her voice a bit, "Don't do this. Don't leave me to die! Please!" Cynric looked away and then shoved her toward the horse. She stumbled but regained her stance and took a step forward so that her face was inches from his. "Please! Cynric, you don't have to­" Cynric backhanded her across the face.

Her hand shot up and covered the place she had been striked. "Get on the horse." Aisling glared up at him. "GET ON THE HORSE!"

She struggled onto the horse and pulled herself up. Glowering down at him, she hissed, "This will not be the last you see of me, Cynric. Believe me when I say this." And with that, Aisling rode off into the night.

* * *

At first Aisling felt nothing but fear and worry for what lied ahead, but once the cold wind whipped at her face and she felt the snow begin to fall so thickly on her, her fear was forgotten, and for a long while, she felt great about her freedom. At one point she was certain she was being followed by some of Cerdic's men, and then fear of the Woads overtook her. So she rode quickly, flying through the night on the rather ugly yet speedy horse she had been given. She rode until the bouncing of the horse beneath her and the cold made her numb, and at this point she felt herself dozing off upon the horse. She stopped and got down, tied the horse to a tree, and slept near the warmth of the tree and the tall horse.

She had hardly slept a few hours when the first rays of the rising sun woke her from her slumber. The wind had died down, and it had also stopped snowing. As the sun rose further, Aisling began to feel warm. She sat beneath the tree and watched the sunrise. It was then, while watching light spread across the quickly melting snow, that Aisling remembered something from her studies back home in Rome. The sun always rose in the East. As far as she could tell, the sun was rising from the direction she had come - the place where the Saxons were located - so she concluded that if she continued going west, she would eventually find her village. She contemplated going back to the Saxons, but she imagined that would only result in her getting killed. So she climbed up onto the horse's back and took off with the sun at her back.

Minutes of riding turned into hours, and the hours ticked on past. Aisling's stomach began to grumble late in the afternoon as the temperature started to drop. She had not eaten in a couple of days, and she felt bitter regret as she thought to herself that if she was still back at the Saxon camp, she would be getting food at that very moment. She pushed the thoughts of food out of her mind, though, and continued on. Far ahead of her in the west the sun was slowly sinking, and she shivered a bit. She was still in her thin dress, after all, but all day there had been no signs of clouds in the sky, so she feared no snow for that night.

Just as she was about to get off the horse and find another tree to sleep under, she saw billows of smoke rising against the last slivers of sunlight ahead of her. Her first thought was that it could be a group of Woads, but the Woads resided in the forest, which was to her right. Had the Saxons succeeded her on her journey? Was that the fire of Cerdic and Cynric? Aisling rode forward at full speed and on the other side of the hill found a tiny house. Lights were burning in the windows. Aisling felt relief overcome her. She rode slowly down the hill and tied the horse up at the fence post before trudging up to the house and knocking.

As she knocked, voices rumbled from within, and shuffling could be heard. "Don't open it, you fool of an old man! Could be those people from the North!" "Don't be daft, woman, we would have heard them coming if it was the people from the North." And as Aisling raised her hand to knock once more, the door opened and an old man stood before her.

"Hello, kind sir. I've traveled far on my horse and I saw the smoke from your house. I could not pass up an opportunity for warmth and a good meal, so I beg of you, sir, would you be generous enough to allow me to stay within your abode?" The look of persuasion returned to Aisling's eyes.

"Who is it?"

The old man replied over his shoulder, "It's a girl. She needs a place to stay."

"Well let her in! It's got to be getting cold out there! Don't stand in the door, come in! Get in here now!" The old man stepped back and allowed Aisling to step into the small room, which had only one door that she imagined led to a bedroom. Immediately the heat from the fire warmed her face and entire body. She nodded and showed her great respects, "Thank you sir. My lady."

The woman ushered her toward the table, "Sit! Sit down! I've got some meat in the pot and some of the left over cabbage cooking. It will be ready in just a minute." Aisling obeyed and sat quietly at the table until the supper was ready. When the meat had been announced as done, the old couple joined her at the table and ate their dinner silently while watching Aisling eat hers. Aisling bit into the meat and chewed hungrily - it tasted wonderful to her, and she forgot her manners almost as quickly as the food had been prepared.

"What is your name, young girl?" the old man asked as he offered her a large piece of bread. Aisling took it gratefully and swallowed what food she had in her mouth. "I am Aisling. I am from the Roman village west of here." She bit into the bread. "I am assuming it is not much further, but I have come a long way."

The man's wife gave Aisling a cross expression, "If you are from the Roman village, why are you traveling from so far? What has happened to you? You're in such a battered state. Look at your face. Are those cuts? And your dress! Surely you wore something else while riding through the snow?" She was an inquisitive old woman, Aisling was soon realizing.

"I…I got lost. Disoriented from a trip to another village. But I am fine, my lady, I assure you. You can trust that I would not look like this if I had not been out in the wilderness for so long. It is just one cut. I had an accident a few good journeys past." She chewed and swallowed more meat and stuffed some cabbage in her mouth. "But I regret to say that this torn dress is all I have with me. I could do with a warm cloak." She continued to eat the hearty meal before her.

The lady looked very shocked and sat gaping at Aisling for quite some time. Her husband, who had finished with his meal, spoke up. "We have a couple cloaks for the borrower's use. You may take one with you when you depart tomorrow. We will set up a bed for you there near the fire. You may stay this one night."

"Thank you, kind sir. Thank you very much." Aisling then finished her supper in silence. After dinner she laid down on the blankets the old woman had laid out for her, and she slept the best she had in weeks. Late the next morning Aisling departed from the old man and woman's home, but she did not know that she was leaving civilization for a long while and walking into some of the worst days of her life.

* * *

As the temperature grew warmer, there was only one clear day of sunlight as Aisling traveled further west, and the day after that it snowed once more, only more lightly than it had before. Within a few more days, the snow turned to rain, and it rained for four days straight. Aisling was not as cold as she had been earlier on her journey, for the cloak she had been given at the older couple's home served her well, but the food that they had given her had run out two days earlier. She regretted not rationing it better because she now felt starved, and finding food would be a difficult task - she knew this. After some time the horse she was riding upon looked awfully tasty to her, but she resisted the urge to slaughter it and eat its meat.

The rains stopped pouring a day later, but deep fog set over the land. After the rain stopped, her horse went mad, bucking her off on her back and stomping on her with its hooves. It whinnied menacingly and stood on its hind legs, and before Aisling had time to move, it came crushing down on her arm and snapped her wrist. She cried out in agony and pulled herself to her legs, but she stepped in a hole or an unlevel patch of ground; her ankle twisted and she fell to in the dirt once more, struggling to get away from the crazed horse. It was coming at her full charge, but when she was certain she was done for, a beautiful squawking hawk flew into sight overhead. It also caught the horse's attention, and it stopped. When the hawk was done circling overhead, it flew back into the direction it had come from. The horse trotted away into the forest.

Aisling laid there on the ground for quite some time, sobbing and laughing and wondering how in God's mercy she had escaped death so many times. She must have fallen asleep there, with her back on the cold, hard ground, for when she opened her eyes again, it was completely dark and distant, low night noises filled the air. The fog had thickened even more. Aisling slowly sat up and gathered to her feet to glance about. Her brow immediately wrinkled in confusion. She was now in the forest, surrounded completely by trees, but she could not remember wandering into the woods on her own. But she had also not remembered falling asleep, so she quickly dismissed the subject. Aisling sauntered away from the tree she had been stationed under. Sharp pains shot up and down her left arm where the horse had trampled her, so she had to hold her arm. The pain was nauseating, however, and it made her head throb terribly. She doubled over and groaned with anguish. "Oh merciful Lord, please deliver me from this _pain_! Please alleviate my…" Aisling paused. Her back heaved forward and back again, and her right hand shot to her stomach as vomit crept up the back of her throat. The pain was too much to bear, so she threw up.

She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her dress and wrapped herself up into a ball on the ground. Sleep overcame her once more. The rest of the night hours passed and the morning came, but she was too deep in her sleep to notice.

* * *

Not so many miles away from the place Aisling slept, a group of six horsemen trotted through the forest on a short morning ride, and of course, as expected, these men were better known as the six Sarmatian Knights of Arthur Castus. The knight on the far right rode along in peace, keeping to himself while the other five bickered and joked with each other. His quick eyes darted back and fourth in front of him and from side to side, and it was then, as he was looking straight ahead that he saw a tall, brown horse trotting at them. "Ho!" He pulled back on the reins of his horse and told the other men, "Shut up. Hey, shut up!"

Bors cackled and shouted, "Now you've gone and pissed off Tristan too, Galahad!"

Tristan replied back, "Yeah, except I haven't been listening to a word you ponces have been saying since we left the wall. Do any of you see that horse?"

The knight with dark, curly hair inquired, "What horse?"

Tristan pointed, and they all grew silent. The horse ahead of them whinnied and continued to slowly come closer to them. "Is it one of ours, Tristan?" Galahad asked in a low tone.

"I don't know. Doesn't look like any of the horses we have in the stables. Looks like it's traveled some way, though." Tristan glanced a complete 360° around as he spoke.

"A runaway horse seems unlikely, Tristan. Where's its rider?" Lancelot, the curly-haired one, asked very cynically. Before he got an answer, though, Tristan rode off toward the direction the horse had come from at a full speed. Lancelot gave the others an odd look and took off after his friend with the others close behind.

Tristan rode rapidly and kept a watchful eye out for any sign of the horse's rider. The knights rode for a little less than five minutes. Suddenly Tristan pulled harshly back on the reins of his horse, coming to a jerky stop. He hopped off his horse and bent down in the brush by a large tree, where a deathly-looking young girl laid with eyes closed.

The others sped past, but made a quick loop and also got off their horses to take a look at what their fellow knight had found. Tristan stayed crouching and put his ear to the girl's face, listening for her breathing. "She is still alive. But barely. We'll need to take her back to the wall."

Gawain stood further back and merely stared in astonishment, "I don't know how you saw that, Tristan. How did you see that? Er, her. How did you know?" But Tristan was not listening. He had picked the girl up and was carrying her to his horse. "Help me out, Lancelot."

Lancelot nodded and helped Tristan keep the girl on his horse as he mounted and took hold of the reins. He put his chin on the top of her head and spoke to the others, "You coming?" A tiny grin flashed across his face. "First one back to the wall gets credit for saving the little lady."

Galahad and Gawain exchanged eager glimpses as Dagonet and Bors quickly mounted their horses. "You have yourself a deal, but you're going to lose at your own game. This time, Tristan, this time," Bors kicked at his horse and took off after Tristan, who had taken off at the exact same time. The others followed, and Lancelot rolled his dark eyes after them. "Yah!" He too took off at top speed to catch up.

The trip back to the wall was a short one, for the wood that the girl had been found in was nearly fifteen minutes away. Tristan won the race back to the wall - of course - and the girl, Aisling, woke up in his arms just as they were entering the gates at the wall. She felt nothing but warmth and security, even though she did not exactly know who these men on horses were. But she had a good guess at their identities. Aisling was only awake for a short moment before she drifted back to sleep.

**End Note: **I considered continuing from that point, but then I decided that I would get more chapters in if I didn't. I know, not much of the Knights until the end, but I hope the beginning helped you get a feel of the situation and a little of who Aisling is. So tell me what you think! Tell me if it's good or if it's total crap.

Oh, and flashbacks will start to occur! Dunno when, but they will.


End file.
